


Sweet like Honey

by crushculture



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 90s AU, Adorable Steve Rogers, Artist Steve Rogers, Best Friends to Lovers, Brock Rumlow is an ass, Bucky Barnes is a little scary, Bullying, Fluff, Honey and Flowers, Innocent Steve Rogers, Irish Steve Rogers, Kid Fic, M/M, Naive Steve Rogers, Occasional angst, Poem and Song Inspired, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Slightly Accented Steve, So Sweet Sarah Rogers, So is Howard, Soft!Steve, Steve Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers-centric, Steve is actually so sweet it hurts, Teenage Stucky, relatively short chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-08-25 14:30:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16662647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crushculture/pseuds/crushculture
Summary: There was no reason to be scared, so he wasn't. Everything made sense now. He was still new to these thoughts and feelings, but he was in no rush to get them sorted. Bucky would always be there.So the next day he went to Bucky's house and invited him to the movies just like he did every other Friday.And if he noticed the calm eyes he had grown to love in the forget-me-nots, no one had to know.





	1. We're Going to Be Friends

**Author's Note:**

> This is something new! This fic is going to be inspired by some of my favorite songs and poems. So I hope you like it :) I’m not so sure how many chapters will be in this but I hope you enjoy this first one!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are any mistakes in this story, they are all my own!

 

* * *

_And we don’t notice anytime pass_

_We don’t notice anything_

_We sit side by side in every class_

_Teacher thinks that I sound funny_

_But she likes the way you sing._

_’We’re Going to Be Friends’- The White Stripes_

* * *

 Steve Rogers walked to school with his head held high and a homemade splint around his small pointer finger.

His Mama made sure she used his favorite superhero bandages to secure the popsicle sticks that still had a distinct grape scent to them. The grape was his favorite. 

Sucking on the honey flavored cough drops he was accustomed to, he walked to the school that held fresh memories of the alphabet and schoolyard bullies. His innocent heart too righteous for his own good. 

Newly bloomed flowers called in delicate whispers to be picked and given to Mama. He picked the soft dandelions and made sure to put them in his math folder, so they could dry out just the way she showed him. She liked to mix flowers and honey to make a thick mixture that always found purpose on skinned knees. 

Kids running on sugar and pure excitement littered the school yard as they tried to fit in a game of tag before Mrs. Wilson called them to class. Steve didn’t like tag. It made his lungs hurt and eyes water. So he liked to go to his classroom and talk with Mrs. Wilson about cartoons he watched during dinner that previous night. Other kids may cringe at the thought of talking to their teacher about such silly things, but it filled Steve with the happiness that only he could truly understand.

That day at recess, Steve was minding his own business when Howard pulled little Peggy’s pigtail.

“Ey! You gotta stop doing that! She ain’t done nothin wrong!” Howard decided today was as good a day as any to push Steve to the ground and ruin his new pants. Tears flooded his gentle eyes as he looked down at the hole in his knee. Mama saved up for weeks to buy him the pair of pants.

Howard was about to strike him in the leg when a high voice called out, “Whatta think ya doin’ Stark!” 

Jamie Barnes stood there with a scowl on his face and a stick in hand. Taking in the sight of the bigger boy, Howard mumbled his apologies and took off for cover underneath the tree house. Peggy said her thanks and ran to the girls singing made up songs and playing jump rope.

A pale hand reached out and delicately inspected the rip in the fabric.

“My Ma can fix that for ya. Look at what she did with ma jacket,” he pulled off his jacket to show Steve the small stitches made into the cotton fabric. He tentatively ran his splinted finger over the seam.

“Whoa,” he whispered. How did she get a stitch that close? He had a hard time even sewing the button Mama got him on his backpack. 

“Pretty good, huh? Come to ma house after school. We can have Mrs. Wilson call your Ma, and my Ma can fix ya pants!” Jamie said with an extremely thick Brooklyn accent. Steve had more of an Irish twist to his quiet voice.

“Okay. I’m Steve Rogers!” He stood up and brought his eyes to look directly at the boy in front of him. 

“Jamie Barnes! Pleased to meet ya, Stevie.” 

* * *

 

 When Steve came home from school that day with the brightest smile Sarah had ever seen, she couldn’t help but smile as well. 

They ate dinner as Steve animatedly described his eventful day of making new friends and petting Jamie’s smelly dog. 

Soft old jazz floated gently into the kitchen as she finished the dishes. She dried her worn hands off on the bleached stained dish towel and walked into the living room to see Steve gently swaying back and forth. 

“Well, what are we doing here, my babe? Care if I join you?” Steve slowly walked forward and grasped his mother’s hands. They both began swaying, and with the help of Sarah, twisting and moving around the small room. Steve removed his hands from his mother's grasp and wrapped his too skinny arms around her thin waist. She looked down at his fine, golden wispy hair and bright baby blues. “What’s wrong, Steven?” Moving his arms away, she gently got down on her knees and met his eyes. 

His arms moved around her neck as his elfin hands played with the chain that held her and Joseph’s wedding rings. He wasn’t here any longer, but she saw him daily in her son’s innocence and gleaming eyes. Hands softly rubbed smalls circles onto his sharp spine. The smell of oatmeal and honey was permanent on his sensitive baby soft skin. 

“I made a friend, Mama. Can you believe that?” Disbelief was clear.

“I know, my babe. I know,” Her heart clenched at the sound of her son’s voice. Why did the world have to be so cruel to her boy? Who wanted to help everything he saw and bring justice to those who didn’t have any for themselves. She knew he was different. He may not be strong or extremely masculine. But he was good. He saw the good in things where most people didn’t. He was a needed summer breeze in the sweltering heat. A first drop of honey in a new beehive. He was blooming flowers in the first of Spring. He was a drop of love and sweetness in a world so devoid of it. The world needed something like him. Even if it didn’t know it yet. 

 

* * *

Milk teeth fell in exchange for coins that would be collected in a can of sweet syrupy peaches. They could fix the heartache of any failed spelling test. 

The dark was feared as limbs grew in a mess of innocent hearts and blinding smiles. Wonderment filled their eyes as they read and learned and prospered together. Bullies were fought, tears fell, and a type of warmth was permanently set under Steve’s small sternum. Little Bucky’s too. 

Pink bow lips were often raised in tender smiles as jokes that hardly made sense were told.

It was a warm summer day that they would never forget. Bucky was eleven while Steve was approaching eleven as well. The summer breeze smelled distinctly of something Bucky would always recognize as purely Steve. Soft and comforting with a hint of honey and grown flowers. 

The two boys were laying in the Rogers’ sweating apartment in nothing but cut off blue jeans and ice cream stained tank tops. Nothing particularly interesting happened. No special words were shared. No actions were played out. They just sat and enjoyed each other’s company. The next years would be full of learning and becoming their own people. But right now they were just one boy with his heart on his sleeve and a purple hearing aid and another with delicate features and a protective streak like no other.

They shouldn’t get along really. The boy like walking honey and the other like freshly picked peaches. But they did. And no one had to understand it but them. 

 

 


	2. To Build A Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for 160 hits. I never expected this to get any hits, so it really does mean a lot. This one is pretty angsty so sorry if that isn't your cup of tea. I'm really not a big fan of this chapter. But as always I would love to hear your thoughts :)

 

 

 

* * *

_By the cracks of the skin I climbed to the top_

_I climbed the tree to see the world_

_When the gusts came around to blow me down_

_Held on as tightly as you held on to me_

_Held on as tightly as you held on to me._

_'To Build A Home'- The Cinematic Orchestra_

* * *

 

 As they grew, hands tangled in the backs of sensitive cotton sweaters and soft shirts. The comforting gesture was used when scraped elbows and harsh words got the best of their honey-like hearts. 

That's where they are at right now. A bloody nose and skinned chin were being gently cleaned as Steve's long fingers tangled themselves in Bucky's cotton band shirt. A mixture of tears and blood stained the sky blue fabric of Steve's favorite sweater. Whether the blood was his or Howard's, he didn't know. But to see something stain the fabric that wasn't acrylic paint or sweet-scented flower oils made Bucky's blood boil. He didn't understand why people thought it was okay to attack Steve for being different. Just because he likes to collect flowers and feed ants the remains of his peach jam and peanut butter sandwich doesn't make it okay to throw him to the ground.   

"I'm sorry, Buck. You shouldn't have to clean me up 'cause I'm too soft." His hand gripped the shirt tighter as a salty tear fell down his freckled face. The tear fell on Bucky's large hand and absorbed into his pale skin. An open window allowed a soft fall breeze that smelled of leaves and mud. Fall brought memories of past Halloweens and the collections of brightly colored leaves that lived in glass picture frames. Even though Fall meant that Bucky had to carry an inhaler in case Steve was separated from his own, Steve loved it. 

"You ain't too soft, pal. You're Steve. Nothing wrong with being you." He looked up to meet the familiar soft eyes that held innocence, and an overwhelming will to do the right thing. Those eyes had seen so many fights but they still held their distinct gleam. 

"That's not true. You know it better than anyone. I'm no good." And God did it hurt to hear him say that. The day the sun fell out of the sky, would be the day Bucky would agree with that.  

The scar on the prominent bone of Steve's wrist would forever be a reminder of the hatred the world seemed to have for him. Bucky ran his finger up and down the scar that adorned the skin after a particular fight that involved a large rock and an angry Brock Rumlow. No matter how much vitamin E Mama slathered on the rough skin, it never seemed to work. The day that happened was full of sobs and reassuring whispers that it would heal with time ( _'It ain't that bad, Stevie. Look, Mama wrapped it. It will go away. I promise you.'_ ). A slit in Brock's eyebrow was missing along with three of his teeth thanks to the fractured knuckles on Bucky's left hand. He saved his allowance up for weeks to buy a fabric bracelet that was covered in cartoonish honey bees. It was slightly too large but did it's job at covering the bubbled red skin. 

His face outshined the sun that day. Bucky helped roll up his sweater sleeve and tied the ribbon on with a gentle hand. He looked slightly strange. A pale boy with sharp but delicate features and a ribbon tied around his wrist with a bubbling red blister that demanded attention peeking out from under it.

"You know I'm not going to respond to that, Steve. Don't even go there. Ma bought your favorite ice cream yesterday. How about we go to my house and watch Jurassic Park? Becca's gone. She can't bother us. Mama works double shifts on Fridays, right?" He whispered as he tightened the bracelet. Tears pooled in his grey eyes. It was never going to be easy, seeing him in pain. He never deserved this. Steve's hand was still pulling and twisting the fabric. It would be stretched beyond repair, but he couldn't bring himself to care. If it brought peace to his racing mind, well that's all that mattered. 

A small nod was all he was going to get as confirmation. He tugged the bottom of the sweater, and Steve raised his arms. The fabric held memories of poorly made films, guiltily picked peonies, and candied stained tongues. He pulled it over the blondes thin frame while messing up his lavender scented hair and setting a small smile on the soft bow lips. An old sweatshirt of Bucky's was pulled over his sharp shoulders. Bucky would never understand the obsession with the thick cotton. Perhaps it was the everpresent sandalwood scent, or the fact Steve was basically swimming in it. Whatever it was, Bucky couldn't help but melt at the way the younger boy looked. 

* * *

Feelings were confusing, Bucky realized. He knew why his heart jumped whenever he thought of that angel-kissed face. He vowed to himself with a thick voice and teary eyes that Steve would never need to know.

Steve never needed to know the way Bucky's eyes glazed in awe when he showed him the beautiful poems that were written in a worn journal. Or the way his palms got sweaty whenever a feather light touch was shared with the passing of an ice cold Coke. Or the way he tried to count the freckles on the delicate face when he fell asleep during English class one day. He never got to finish, the bell brought Steve out of his deep sleep with a grimace when he saw the drool that covered his homework. 

He never needed to know the pain he caused when he cried in pain after a hard blow to the gut. Or the way he made Bucky cry into his Ma's arms when he realized what this all meant, that maybe a wife wasn't in his future anymore. 

He never needed to know any of it.   

 


	3. Lovely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So sorry that it's been a bit - writer's block is a pain :/ Anyway, I hope you like this chapter. And jeez! 340 reads!? I'm honestly so shocked that people are reading and actually enjoying my work. It means so much to me. Thank you all for reading. Kudos, comments, and bookmarks are always welcome :) Back to fluff!

 

* * *

_One day older, we feel colder_

_Pull my heart out, hold it close_

_Won't you hug me and hold me_

_And tell me I'm lovely?_

_'Lovely'- Mt. Eddy_

* * *

 

 The scratchy blanket was protecting porcelain skin from being touched by the damp grass. Steve was leaning against a thick shady willow tree, his legs draped across Bucky's gangly ones. A gentle breeze blew over their sweat-damp skin and misplaced wispy blonde hair. Lengthy fingers danced lightly over soft dandelions that would make a delicate accessory for Bucky's long dark hair. The green stems always left a bitter scent on his hands, but he didn't mind, he loved the smell that the flowers left. The big box radio played some mindless love song. Those were Steve's favorites. The mindless songs that talk about butterflies in bellies and shaky hands. He didn't know much about love, but he loved the songs all the same.

Those songs would always make his naive heart race, especially when Bucky was there. A feather-like touch would throw his heart off rhythm and bring all his nerves to his hands.  He felt those magical butterflies in his belly when a pink blush appeared on Bucky's cheeks. He wouldn't settle until there was a smile on Bucky's face after a bad day at school. He looked so nice when he smiled. There were thousands of beautiful things in the world, but even the prettiest of peonies didn't stand a chance against the plump pink bow lips. He didn't know what he was feeling. Perhaps he could ask Mama when he goes home for dinner tonight.    

"Buck! Your crown is done! I did it while you were asleep," His slightly accented whisper called out. Mama's accent was so harsh that it slightly spread to his own voice. Grey eyes opened and immediately shut due to the harshly shining sun though a smile brought itself across his sleep soft face. He sat up, and Steve placed the crown on top of his head. The younger boy gently took the dark hair in his hands and began to absentmindedly twist the hair between his two fingers.  

"Very pretty, Bucky. You could be on the cover of magazines!" A soft giggle escaped his lips as a light blush flushed his cheeks. He reached up and repositioned the flowers on his head while sending a blinding smile in the other boy's direction. He slowly dropped his hands and began picking on the fraying blanket. Steve knew he had hundreds of dried crowns in shoe boxes underneath his bed but continued to make them. Bucky had told him that he loved those crowns with his whole heart, and he wouldn't forget that. 

Bucky was snow and cherries and freshly picked tulips that grew in the drug store garden. Everything good and sweet. Steve knew what people called Bucky.  _('_ _Winnie and George's kid? A damn menace if you so much as look in that little blonde runt's direction.')_ He wasn't sure why people said those things about his best friend, but he didn't worry too much about it. If something was wrong, Bucky would tell him. 

"It's beautiful, bub! As always. You're gonna have to show me how you make them one day." He took the crown off his head and inspected the patterns that were intertwined in green stems. It didn't look extremely complicated but Steve always was better at braiding and weaving things. During the summer, it was rare to see Mama not sporting a complicated braid adorned with flowers courtesy of her son. 

"I could show you now if you want. I picked a bunch on the walk to your house. Mr. Coulson has a lot in his yard," He opened his canvas backpack that was indeed full of slightly wilted yellow petals. The sight if the honey boy with a bag full of weeds just melted his heart even more. He felt so many things whenever the blonde was around. There were not near enough words that could possibly even begin to describe the boy leaning against that old willow tree. Sweet is the first one that Bucky thought of. Sweet like the cavity-inducing candy they got on the corner store. Sweet like the syrupy peaches that came in tin cans for $1.75. Innocent and charming like a little babe in her Sundays best. So many things that he wasn't. He was hard, vigilant and far too overprotective for his own good. But they got along just fine. 

"Of course, buddy." Steve crawled forward and rested his head against the other boy's shoulder. He reached into his bag and pulled out a couple of the wilted weeds and began to slowly weave them into a simple pattern. 

* * *

 "Mama, can I ask you something?" He asked half-way through their dinner of grilled chicken salad. She wiped her mouth with the cheap paper napkin and took a sip of her lemon ice tea.

"Of course, my babe. What's on your mind?" A gentle smile was sent his way. 

"You know those songs on the radio? The ones about bein' in love and all the stuff," She nodded her head. 

"What does it feel like?" His face slightly flushed as he ducked his head. The pattern in his napkin suddenly becoming intriguing. The question took her by surprise a bit. There isn't a good way to describe the feeling. 

"Oh. Well, I guess it feels like everything right. You might get butterflies in your stomach or shaky hands," She looked down at her hands with a sad smile, "When I first met your father, I thought my heart was gonna fall right out of my chest. It was beating that fast! He was perfect. No flaws whatsoever. He was my everything. Joseph was the first thing I thought about and the last thing I thought about when I fell asleep." She wiped her eyes and paused for a moment. "You want them to be there for all your life's moments, good or bad. Their happiness is yours. Suddenly their smile is brighter than the sun, and you would do anything to see it. There is no real way to describe it, darlin'. You just know." 

His heart dropped down to his feet and the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Sarah noticed his pale face fall and eyes glaze over. Immediately she was out of the old wooden chair and crouched in front of her son. Her hand brushed the hair off his forehead.

"Steven, what is it? Are you okay? Are you hurt?"  

"I can tell you anything, right? You will love me no matter what?" His already quiet voice got quieter and trembled. His eyes met hers. He could feel the burning tears collect in the corners of his baby blue eyes. 

"Always, sunshine. Always." 

"Bucky. That's Bucky, Mama."

It wasn't shocking. She knew the way that Bucky protected her son was fueled by something much stronger than either of them knew. The world wasn't kind to people like them. Maybe that protective streak in him would be enough to shield them away from the world. They would be just fine. She knew it in her bones. 

"I know," She gathered his small frame in her arms, "I know."

* * *

  There was no reason to be scared, so he wasn't. Everything made sense now. He was still new to these thoughts and feelings, but he was in no rush to get them sorted. Bucky would always be there. 

So the next day he went to Bucky's house and invited him to the movies just like he did every other Friday. 

And if he noticed the calm eyes he had grown to love in the forget-me-nots, no one had to know. 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. The Moon Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh hello! So sorry about not updating. Finals are tough. These next chapters will be telling more of a story. I realized that I'm not really telling a smooth flowing story so hopefully that will change soon. I will be on winter break in a couple days so hopefully updates will be more routine. Thanks for sticking around. :)  
> Btw, can you catch an iconic quote in this chapter?!

* * *

_I'm lying on the moon_

_My dear, I'll be there soon_

_It's a quiet starry place_

_Time's we're swallowed up_

_In space we're here a million miles away._

_'The Moon Song'- Karen O_

* * *

The city sang in its normal whistle as the two teens walked down the street with popcorn in their teeth and sugary sodas in hand. The bright sun brought a pink tint and darkened freckles upon the gaunt face Bucky would never get tired of. So many things were held behind those baby blue eyes and concentration bit lips. Steve still had soft blue acrylic paint stuck in the cracks of his left pinkie finger. He refused to let anybody see it until it was done, so Bucky had no idea what it could possibly be. It would take the foul-smelling paint remover that made his eyes water to get it off his skin. He wore a large pink shirt with a yellow collar that was tucked into soft blue jeans. They were cuffed just enough to see golden hair that dusted his bony ankles. Soft and beautiful, just like always. 

He couldn't help but notice every detail about him. He loved him so much it hurt sometimes. There were so many things to look at. The scar above his right eyebrow, the slightly crooked teeth that appeared through his ever-present smile, the starry eyes, and those thick long lashes that were too often clumped together by tears. He wanted to cradle that gentle face in his broad hands and never let the world see it. He would hurt and bleed if it meant that those eyes held onto their innocent gleam a little while longer. 

No one was quite like Steve. Despite the things he has seen and the life he has lived in his short fifteen years, he was still so good. He went out of his way to fight for what was right even though he knew it would mean a bloody lip and endless torment. 

"Bucky? Do you think we can maybe go to the park? I mean it's Spring and-" He looked down at his scuffed sneakers as he took small steps. Bucky could see the flush on his skin even through his light sunburn. Only he would get a sunburn in Spring.

"No problem. Got nothin' to do anyway, bub. Well, I do have some homework, but that can wait." He grinned and wrapped his arm around Steve's shoulders. The warm body tucked into his torso giggled slightly and lightly patted Bucky's chest.

As they walked, Steve told stories about the new flowers he was going to plant in his backyard. He couldn't decide between carnations and big bright sunflowers. Bucky weighed in that sunflowers would be best though he didn't say why. Perhaps it was his sunny disposition, warm smile, or honey golden hair. Whatever it was, those big flowers reminded him of the pure sweetness curled underneath his arm. 

Bucky's arm curled tightly as they walked past Brock and Howard. He pulled Steve into his chest ever so slightly to block him from seeing the two boys walking their way. He could feel a small smile through the thin material of his Nirvana shirt as the other boy wrapped his arms tightly around his belly. The light touches made his skin burn. They must look strange, but Bucky couldn't bring himself to care at all. He didn't miss the way Brock and Howard looked at them with disgust. He would have to talk to them tomorrow after school. You think they would've learned by now that Bucky wasn't afraid of swollen knuckles anymore. 

"Stevie, how about we go to my house after the park, yeah? I got some new CD's you should hear." He rubbed his hand over the thick warm material over Steve's back. His after school job at the grocery store paid well enough that they both could go and get lunch and some new CD's after school on Fridays. Steve's allergies were too rough last time, so he braved the world without his best bud to get the brand-new Weezer album. The leftover money went to the kind of tissues infused with lotion so the skin around his nose wouldn't be sore. 

"Sure. We can take a nap too, right? Those silly allergies take it all outta me!" Bucky found the slight Irish twist to his voice absolutely adorable. Sarah is teaching him Gaelic now, and that's making his voice even more drawn out and pronounced. It will be useful when his grandparents come and visit. 

"Hell yeah, bub," he said through a grin, "Mama doesn't get home until real late, right? Stay at my place tonight. We can put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids. After we go to the park, we will go to your house and get your stuff." Steve being home alone was never a good idea. He almost burned down the old apartment trying to make pancakes. And maybe he just wasn't ready to let go of him for today.  

"Don't curse," that earned him a rough tap on the middle of his spine, "Mama works till 5:00 in the morning. I get to pick the movie we watch. You always pick the scary ones, Buck." He may or may not pick the scary movies so Steve will move a little closer to him. 

"Whatever you say, Stevie." 

* * *

When they got home, they immediately set to work pulling the cushions off the couch and gathering blankets from unsuspecting Barnes'. It took them all of an hour with a small break in between for a dinner of Hamburger Helper and peach lemonade. 

Steve changed into his soft sleep sweater and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms while Bucky just changed into his father's old work shirt and stayed in his boxers. They sprawled out on the cushions while Forrest Gump played on the box TV. 

Long fingers traced the inside on Bucky's forearm. He was doing absent-mindedly - he most likely didn't even know he was doing it. His face was contorted into a small frown while Jenny gave Forrest a peace sign before being driven away by the bus. 

As they got older, he couldn't help but notice that Steve loved to touch him. Just small touches like fingertips grazing across his arms or hands tangled into his dark hair. He wasn't like this towards anyone else. Just him. It was comforting, he guessed. Maybe touches like that were small reassurances that Bucky was still there and he wasn't going anywhere. Whatever the reason he did it for, he was more than happy to let him touch. It always left a warm fuzzy feeling. 

He stayed focused on the light touches and let his mind drift, thinking of nothing in particular. Small unidentifiable patterns burrowed into his flesh as fingers danced lightly. He loved moments like this. Everything was calm and quiet. Steve's skin was untainted and he was smiling. 

A small little 'thump' and pressure meant Steve had scooted closer and rested his head on Bucky's shoulder. He smiled and scooted just as close so he could lay his head against the other boy's. 

They were both asleep before the movie ended. 

 

 


	5. The Heart Is a Muscle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays! I hope you all have very happy holidays full of love and sweetness. Some tooth-rotting fluff for the stressful holidays is my gift to you wonder people! I was thinking of possibly making a playlist to go along with this fic, so let me know if that is something you guys would be interested in :)

* * *

_I wanna be loved_

_I wanna be whole again_

_So tuck my hair behind my ears_

_And touch my soul again._

_'The Heart Is a Muscle'- Gang of Youths_

* * *

 The creaking of the old wooden steps woke Bucky up with a slight startle. Being a light sleeper was horrible when you live in a house older than both of your grandparents combined. Winifred's dark brown curls peaked around the corner of the staircase. The basement was illuminated by the light static of the TV that would make Bucky sick if looked at it long enough. A small side table held the digital clock and Steve's hearing aids and thick-framed glasses slightly blocked the view of his mother, but he could tell that she was wearing that ugly nightgown she had owned before he was even born. 

"James? Are you boys awake?" His mother's husky voice whispered. 

"Just me, Ma. Don't need to whisper. He's asleep and his hearing aids are out." Steve must've moved in his sleep because he was now half draped across the other boy. A bit of drool was dripping onto Bucky's shirt clad chest and down his own sharp chin. He moved and lifted with every breath he took in. He most likely could feel the steady  _thump_ of his heartbeat. Long fingers were tangled into the left sleeve of the worn, detergent smelling, soft cotton fabric of the Lowes shirt. 

If Steve looked innocent when he was awake, he was otherworldly in his sleep. Those blush pink lips were slightly parted as light breaths pushed passed them and long lashes dusted his pale cheekbones. He could see the permanent dent behind his ear from the hearing aids even in the dark and the prominent collarbone that was visible thanks to the shifting of his sweater. His lips lifted in his sleep as Bucky rested his hand on the other boys back. He was tempted to push the sweater up so his hand could touch the soft skin and memorize the feeling of minimal skin on skin contact. He wanted blood to rush to Steve's face and the sunshine smile to appear as he ran his hand up and down and up and down and touched him with caring hands. He pushed his hand up higher on his back to ease the temptation away.  

Winifred walked around the corner and turned the TV off, making the room dark enough that he could hardly see her outline anymore. The harsh light of the digital clock was the only source of light in the entire basement - 3:17 it read. Morning monotony would start in four hours time and they would have to drag themselves to school. Steve wouldn't mind though. The morning Spring air cleared his lungs and brought a happy giddiness that would last well into 5th period. Bucky loved Spring simply for the fact that it made Steve happy. He loved the flowers that he picked and made into crowns and something to rest behind ears. 

"I'm just checking to make sure you boys are asleep. How in the world is he comfortable like that?" She chuckled. 

"He was real tired when he got home. And you know how sad movies always wipe him out." He moved his hand up and gently twisted his fingers in the short blond hair. 

"What did you guys watch?" 

"Forrest Gump. Told him it was sad but he wanted to see for himself. I don't think he finished before he fell asleep," Winifred walked to the lamp hidden in the corner and flipped in on, "He's real special, ain't he, Ma?" 

"Are you ever going to tell him? He deserves to know, Hun." She kind of wishes she had a camera right now. The look on her son's face is something that only comes from years of unrequited love and admiration. What they have is rare and special. Stronger than most people know.

 "Yeah, I think I will. I'm not sure when. But I know I will. I don't want to miss out on something special, ya know?" He gave her a gentle smile that made his eyes crinkle. He would tell him eventually. That fear that consumed him was no longer existent. Bucky has been alive long enough to know that anything is possible. Even someone so breathtaking like Steven Rogers who loves bees and flowers and sad movies that make him cry could love someone as rough and bold as James Barnes. There were so many good things in the world. And whatever they had was one of those good things. 

* * *

The warm Spring weather disappeared not long after they both arrived at school, so the walk home was full of laughs as they stomped through puddles and tried to catch raindrops on their tongues. Their shoes were going to be soaked and their hair would be wet and curly from the water, but they couldn't bring themselves to care. They are young and in love. Even if they didn't know that last part just yet. 

They toed their shoes off and darted into Steve's room. It was full of potted plants, polaroid pictures of the two of them pinned into his wall by unmatched push pins, old ticket stubs from movies long forgotten, and his most prized paintings and drawings. A big canvas stood in the corner with a stained sheet draped over it and paintbrushes underneath it. He knew he wouldn't get an answer to what the painting was, so he just didn't bring it up. When Steve was ready to show him, he would. 

Both collapsed onto the unmade, cozy, sweet-smelling bed that was so warm that Steve was dead to the world the second his head hit the feather-filled pillow. His wet hair was being crimped by the awkward position he was in, so when he awoke, a shower would be the only thing that would work at getting rid of the horrible bed head. Bucky reached over and tried to gently tuck the hairs that were defying gravity behind the hearing aid clad ear. The hair was stiff, but it went back down with a bit of patience and rainwater from his wet shirt. He laid there with his hand in his best friends hair and tried to take in every detail of him.  His fingers tapped gently on Steve's wrist in the same pattern as the rain that hit the window. Humming Steve's favorite love song (Love My Way) helped pass the time.  

He moved his hand from the boy's wrist to his chest. He could count the ribs and settle his fingers in between the spaces. A hard  _thump_ was strong as ever. 

His presence was just so calming and familiar. It was warm and sweet and gentle. He wanted to bask in it and forget the entire world. It was just him and Steve right now - world be damned.   

He wished he had the nerve to tell Steve everything. One day. He was excited for that day. 

"I love you if you didn't know. I promise one day I'm gonna tell you. I would be the luckiest guy in all of Brooklyn if you felt the same way, wouldn't I? You are the most sentimental punk I know, so maybe I'll do it through a letter. Or maybe I'll take you up to Coney Island and win you a nice stuffed bear. Maybe I'll take you out in the rain and kiss you as they do in those God awful movies you and Becca love. However I do it, it'll be good. I promise you. You'll know one day, Rogers. Just don't get rid of me before I can tell you." 

Steve would be there. He always was.

 


	6. Open Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay this one is pretty angsty but I promise you it will be so worth it. I'm terribly sorry that this hasn't been updated as much as I promised. It takes me such a long time to write a single chapter and make edits until I'm happy with it.... ;/ Well anyway, I kind of love this chapter so I hope you feel the same way!! Btw minor violence in this chapter.  
> Catch me on Tumblr: thisisheavenandiddieforit

  1. * * *




  _Get up, get out, get away from these liars_

_Cause they don't get your soul or fire_

_Take my hand, knot your fingers through mine_

_And we'll walk from this dark room for the last time_

_Every minute from this minute now_

_We can do what we like anywhere_

_I want so much to open your eyes_

_Cause I need you to look into mine._

_'Open Your Eyes'- Snow Patrol_

* * *

 Ash sprinkled into the slightly damp grass when he gave the Lucky Strike a hard tap against his other hand. His lungs burned and the smell of smoke would be stuck onto his jacket until it's washed, but he didn't mind. He had slipped the box into his pocket when his boss wasn't looking and that was the end of that. He didn't like to smoke very often. With every puff he took, he could feel the thousands of chemical fillers. He hated them but loved them all the same.

Playing in the rain was not such a good idea. When Bucky went to the Rogers' apartment after not hearing from Steve for a while, he was greeted with a pale, sniffling Steve and a worried Sarah. He had stayed until Steve had fallen asleep while he ran his worked, calloused fingers through the hair that was starting to curl around the base of his neck. The soft blond curls made him look tender and sensitive in a way that was so different than usual. It looked as if his body was saying, _"If you don't grab me now, I'll be gone with the next gust of wind."_

The house next to their apartment was vacant, so that was his designated smoking area for the day. The sunset was slightly visible through the small cracks in the wooden fence that has quite obviously seen better days. The dying out hum of the city was the background noise to his cigarette smoke and shaking hands. The more time he spent with Steve, the more his hands would shake and collect sweat on the palms. There was no longer any point in hiding his feelings. He loved him and he knew what this all meant - that relentless beatings and teasing would get far worse for the both of them. He wasn't worried about himself, just Steve because, even though he's seen more action than most Marines, he still can't throw a punch or block a kick to the gut. 

Steve wasn't fragile by any means. Despite his skin and bone frame, he would get right back up even after a blow that would make most men weep. He was just so naive and innocent. It, unfortunately, made him an easy target to those kids with messed up lives and daddy issues. He sees the good in all things where most people don't and it hurts because someone so good gets treated like dirt but he can't do more. He can punch, kick, claw, and fight them with all he has, but those harsh words will still always hit Steve harder than any punch ever could. Steve tries to pretend he didn't hear them, but Bucky knows he hears every word and bottles it up.

The crying has been happening more and more after fights. He'll be tucked under Bucky's arm and he'll feel a wet spot forming where his face is pressed against his own belly. He'll stall their walk, pull Steve's face up to look him in the eyes, and wrap his arms around him. He'll always tuck the other boy's face in the crook of his neck and rub Steve's back and promise him that he will be okay - he's with him 'til the end of the line and Steve will cry even harder.

He knows there is nothing that will ruin their friendship. Something as simple as being completely helplessly, painfully in love with his best friend will not ruin what they have. He's not scared of being rejected but terrified about how much he cares. There's a slim chance that Steve will feel the same way and that's enough to try for. 

* * *

 "Stevie, what the hell are you doing?" He asked with a grin as Steve laid on his belly in the damp grass while peering into the green blades. He had on the thick-rimmed glasses that he had painted with gentle acrylic paints. 

"I found a bug, so I put him on my hand and he fell off. Just makin' sure he's okay," He dug his beat up sneakers into the wet dirt and put more weight onto his arms to get a better look. Bucky could feel his heart jump in his chest. Only would he worry about a bug he dropped in the grass.

"I'm sure he's fine. Don't give yourself a stomach ulcer, plea-"

"Oh! I found him!" Steve flipped on his back, bug cupped between his hands and a blinding smile on his soft lips. He opened a crack between his thumbs to peek inside the makeshift bug habitat. He awkwardly contorted his body so Bucky could look inside his hands. He found himself looking at the sharp lines of Steve's hands and wrists instead of the black dot that had wormed itself through the crack of his thumbs.

"That's real nice," Steve put the bug back into the grass and met gray eyes, "Let's grab something to drink, ya?" Bucky reached down and grabbed Steve's hand to pull him up. 

"It's so warm out today. I love it," The blond tightened his hands around the straps of his worn, but well-loved rucksack. There was dirt stuck to the knees of his teal jeans. Bucky's old, worn, soft gray shirt was adorned over top his willowy frame while the cartoonish honey bees sat ever-faithfully on his wrist. 

They talked mindlessly about nothing while they walked to a soda shack down the road. They talked about how well they slept the night before and the new seating chart for Mr. Andrews class. Steve talked about his new ideas for poetry and ideas for things to get Mama for her birthday. Bucky talked about how Becca was doing in her first year of middle school but didn't talk about the note that was burning a hole in his back pocket. He didn't tell of how he poured everything onto that notebook paper just the night before. Never mentioned that he was horrified of the things that would transpire in the next eight hours of being together. Just smiled and wrapped his arm around narrow shoulders. 

* * *

"Buck?" Steve asked with the straw of his own soda resting on his bottom lip. They were lounging underneath a blooming sycamore tree with a bag of sweet cherries rested between their legs.

"Yeah?" Steve's lips were tinted dark from the sickeningly sweet fruit. Six and a half more hours to go. 

"What are they doing here?" 

"Oh, fuck. Wait here, okay?" 

Brock and Howard were walking with brittle grins and something hidden behind their backs. It didn't take a genius to know they held some kind of bat in both their hands. They were insane, he knew this, but they have never brought weapons out before. Bucky took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and bared his teeth.

"What the fuck are you doing here?! Leave." His loud voice brought attention from the nearby families picnicking in the warm Spring weather. 

"Nah. You ain't scary, Barnes." Howard brought the bat to rest on his own shoulder and picked up his walking pace and Brock followed. 

"You aren't either. So if you could kindly back the fuck up, please."

He looked over his shoulder to see Steve's face becoming a light red color and his sketchbook abandoned next to his drink. He picked himself up and brought himself the same distance away as Bucky. 

"Stevie, please sit down. I can handle them. Just let me scare 'em away." He just grinned and planted himself like a tree. 

Now was not the time to be staring, he knew that, but it was certainly a sight to see. Steve, no taller than 5'4 with his chest puffed and a bee bracelet around his arm getting ready to fight these assholes that were much bigger than him. He was so gone on this kid. 

He didn't have any time to react before a wooden bat slammed into his left leg. He swung his fist hard against Brock's chest and felt the contact in his own right hand. That was gonna hurt tomorrow. Brock was stunned enough that Bucky managed to pin him to the ground and just let go. All the anger and horror he felt put more power in his hands then was strictly necessary. A pained screamed brought him out of whatever just happened. 

He threw himself off Brock and darted to where Steve was laying on the ground with Howard cowering away. Blood was pouring out of his nose with vigor while he gripped his ribs with his left hand.

"Oh, God. Steve, oh my God. Can you breath?" He tried to gently sneak his arms under Steve's legs and behind his neck when he noticed the blood dripping from his own hand. The surrounding families were now pushing their way towards Howard who was kneeled next to Brock.

He picked Steve up and laid him onto the blanket they were relaxing on just minutes ago. Quickly packing the sketchbook and cherries into the rucksack, he wrapped the cotton around Steve's crying body. He picked him back up and ran to the Rogers' apartment. 

* * *

"Sarah! It's bad! His ribs I think." He kicked the door closed with his thick boots and placed him down on the thrifted couch. Blood was running down his lips and onto the ruined gray shirt. 

Sarah ran from the kitchen into the living room and settled her eyes on her son, her cheeks visibly paler than before. She knelt, lifted her sons' shirt, and placed her hands on his ribs.

"Steven, I need you to take a deep breath for me." Bucky saw her hands slightly rise as did Steve's chest. It was already starting to blossom with blues and purples.

"Nothing moved. I don't think they're broken. What happened?" Her hands moved up to his face and lightly touched at his nose. The fingers came away covered in a mixture of salty tears and drying blood.

"Brock and Howard. We were at the park and they just showed up with bats. I tried, Mama. He just wouldn't sit down." 

* * *

The two of them spent the next couple of hours delicately wiping away blood and dirt from his face and hands. He took ibuprofen without any fight and fell asleep not long after. Sarah trusted Bucky enough to stay with Steve. He was more than happy to do so. 

The rush of adrenaline had long since faded and he could feel it. It was around 10 o'clock now, three hours past when he wanted to give him the letter. Sarah had brought Steve's lavender candle out of his room before she left. It always makes Bucky tired, the smell was familiar by the way it always stuck to Steve's belongings. The warm light casts a light orange shadow across the entire living room. 

Peas weren't great ice packs because they melted faster than they could really do any good. He could see they were melting and releasing water onto Steve's bare chest. Blood spread underneath his skin and settled there. It would be there for weeks and he wouldn't be able to comfortably take a deep breath for half that time. He felt horrible. He should've told him just to sit down. If he just would've stayed down. 

His own knuckles were bruised but there was still movement in them, so they weren't broken. He could tell by the burn in them that Brock got the worse end of that deal and that brought a small smile and endless satisfaction. 

"Bucky?" 

Steve's eyes were now open and staring at Bucky's wrapped knuckles.

"Yeah, Steve?"

"I'm sorry. I should'a listened to ya. I'm just so tired of being weak," The way his voice shakes hurts so much to hear. He could hear the tears in his voice.

"Stop. It's okay. You're okay. We're okay," His chair made an awful screech as it was dragged across the floor. 

"No, it's not. I didn't listen and now you're hurt and-" 

Bucky walked over to the couch, got down on his knees, tangled his fingers in soft blond hair, and kissed rough but oh-so-perfect lips. 

"I'm so hopelessly, deeply, tragically in love with you."  

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 


	7. Treehouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay not gonna say much about this one. I'll just say it's angsty. Very. And short.

* * *

  _The wind was howling but we weren't scared_

_Remember living on bikes all those years_

_When we lost all control and_

_Scuffed up the soles of our shoes._

_'Treehouse'- Conan Gray_

* * *

 There was a time when the doctors were crowded around a thin, sickly frame. They briefed a widow on the declining condition of her little boy who struggled for breath on the other side of the door. Pneumonia, they said. Brought on by the common cold. 

Bucky remembers being there. Wrapped around Steve in the small hospital bed despite the doctors' pleas to give them room to work. Whispering potentially empty promises that Steve would get out of here and feel the warm sun on his face again. That they would go to Coney Island again and win all those big bears from those unfair games. He promised they would finish the 4th grade together. 

Steve tried to promise him that he wouldn't leave his best bud alone in the world, though his voice was weak and unsure.

He remembers the seemingly thousands of wires and tubes connected to him. Measuring his breaths and making sure he didn't slip away just yet. The sad smile that the nurses carried whenever they would come into the white room. He remembers Sarah sobbing into her blanket when she thought he had finally drifted off to sleep with his head turned into Steve's overly warm neck. Steve's skin was too warm. 

He remembers his Ma coming in with a change of clothes and his favorite blanket. The look in her eyes when she saw the sad sight of the two of them. Steve shaking with chills in the bed and Bucky holding him. As though through sheer force of will, if he could hold on tight enough, he could make them stop.

He remembers being scared. Scared that this was it. It wasn't going to be a well-placed punch that took him out, but his malfunctioning lungs. He was so young, he wasn't ready to say goodbye just yet.

That's how he feels right now. He always thought that there was nothing to be afraid of. Now seeing Steve bite his bottom lip to keep it from quivering with tears welling in his eyes, he regrets everything.

He never kissed back. 

"Steve," He stepped back until the backs of his knees hit his chair. "Steve, I'm sorry. Oh, my God."

"Stop it. Stop it, Bucky." He said, voice thick.

A heavy silence fell over the room. Steve's fingers tangled into the soft throw blanket pulled over his legs as they had with Bucky's shirt not long ago. His cheek highlighted from the salty tear that ran from his eye and lips bitten not from that of a lover, but of something unidentifiable. Something that made the air thick and nauseating. 

Bucky reached into the pocket of his ripped jeans and pulled out the note. He hoped this would be read in better circumstances. He hoped this would be given to Steve in the glow of the street lights with the taste of candy on their tongues. The air would be cool and smell like city streets, not disgustingly hot and reek of the unknown. He would have his arms wrapped around a small frame, not have their bodies separated by fear.

He handed the note to Steve's outstretched hand, "Everything is in that. Everything you need to know is right here." 

The back of his throat ached when he swallowed. Something, he learned, happens before he cries. He knows that he gets a small red dot under his right eye when he cries. Sensitive to his own tears, his Ma said. He could feel the ache in his throat getting stronger and the tears welling in his gray eyes. 

"Do you mean this?" Steve slowly stood up from the couch with a wince. 

"Every word," A teardrop danced on his dark eyelashes.

"Bucky, I don't understand... Why?" 

"You are everything to me," _I love you,_ he meant. "You gotta understand that. If you don't feel the same, tell me now. I can't do this much longer, Steve."

Steve took small, tentative steps towards Bucky. Hesitant to get closer but desperate for lips on his again. 

"I'll leave if you need me to. You never have to see me again. I just don't want to lose you because if I do, I don't think I have much else, Stevie." 

"Don't...don't say that. You're so much more than me. Don't you dare do this to me, Bucky," Bucky could see the tears falling down his face and onto his prominent collar bones. They're sharp and defined like his ribs and jutted hip bones. Thin skin over bones. He looked delicate and beautiful but damaged. Hurt by his own righteous chest.  

"Don't do what?"

"Leave me because you're scared." 

"Then what do I do? What do _we_ do now, Steve?" Steve stopped walking but was still close. Bucky made the gap between them smaller with his own cautious tread. "Act like I never said this? Pretend everything is okay?" His voice was gentle. As if he raised it even in the slightest bit, it would crack. It would crack and he would break. All the stress of the last ten hours would spill over his cheeks and stain his shirt.

"We don't gotta pretend. It's all okay. So much more than okay, Buck," He took a final step forward and caught his hand in the back of Bucky's blood-stained shirt. His other hand found purchase in dark hair and gently pulled down. Pink lips were brought together with a delicate touch. His own were sensitive from his blunt teeth scraping across them earlier but Bucky's were soft and kind. Warm with something sweet caught between. 

"Was that okay?" Steve asked with a smile. 

"So much more than okay." 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! That’s the end. I hope it isn’t too terrible. Thanks for sticking around for this mediocre fic!  
> Your comments and kudos never fail to bring a smile to my face!


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